In the wood, where beasts lurk
Dark shadows descend,
An eerie atmosphere blankets the air
Fog masks the wood
Flowers wither, plants wilt
Creepiness bounds the rocky paths
As blackness slowly creeps
The cold air huffs
Through the fog, the woods of death
Where the tangled trees of pain seem to guard,
Past the gloomy mountains,
Away and restricted hidden in the dark
Is hope. Nobody can get it for us,
We must bring it ourselves.
When it is most cloudy, we must see it.
When the icy air blows, we must feel it.
Where there is dark, there is light,
For even at most hopeless times,
There will always be hope.